


Equally Damaged

by shosty



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ;), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Azula (Avatar)-centric, Crying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this and now it's your problem, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Not Canon Compliant, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, POV Azula (Avatar), hand waving canon because fuck it, hand waving the canon timeline bc fuck that too, in which ozai fucks up for the last time when zuko dies in the agni kai, my dual love affair with italics AND parenthesis, no beta we die like zuko, taking serious liberties with the spirit world and the afterlife but shh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shosty/pseuds/shosty
Summary: Dad’s going to kill you, she had warned him, and she was right because she always is. It’s Zuzu’s fault for never listening, whisperingAzula always liesas if she needed to lie to ruin him. And now he’s ruined himself.(“Smile,” Father hisses to her before the funeral so she smiles.The headpiece for a crown princess is heavy in her topknot.)
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & The Gaang (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 295





	Equally Damaged

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO  
> I sat down to write part two for Turn to Dust and then,,, this happened. It's kinda self indulgent and my characterisation is so-so, but here?? take it anyways??  
> I've taken a lot of inspiration from "half in the shadows, half burned in flames" by r_astra which is GORGEOUS and you should go read that too. The title is from "for the damaged" which is lowkey the only thing I listen to while writing this  
> anyways, enjoy! <3

i _._

_Dad’s going to kill you._

That’s what she tells Zuko at nine years old with a smile on her face. His face screws up the way it always does when he’s trying not to cry, fists curled around his blankets and bleeding his emotions all over the place. It’s funny until Mother comes in, feathers all ruffled like a turtle-duck struck by her flames, quacking uselessly about how _it’s time for a talk, Azula_ and _aren’t you sick of telling all these lies?_

 _“_ It’s the truth _,_ ” Azula protests. Her mother’s lips pull into that familiar frustrated line, looking at her with disappointment so thick it’s palpable as if _Azula_ is the one who’s not good enough.

(It’s funny the next morning when Grandfather is dead, Mother is gone and Uncle is still in Ba Sing Se mourning his dead son and she can’t _giggle_ when she’s dressed in white for mourning—

 _“_ All hail Firelord Ozai,” the Fire Sage decrees. “May Agni shine upon his reign.”

Zuko tries not cry; Azula smiles for the crowd.)

ii.

Azula is eleven when Zuko falls to his knees and begs for his life without drawing a single flame to defend himself. _I told you,_ she thinks as Father’s flaming hand cradles his face and the other holds him down.

( _Get up, get up, get up. Don’t be weak, just this once. Just this once, fight._

 _Please_.)

His body slumps into Father’s fiery fist, like a puppet with cut strings, his raw screams leaving a silent echo in the chamber. All she can smell is cooked flesh ( _Zuko’s_ cooked flesh) and ash and blood and her cheeks ache as the smile threatens to drip off her face like lead.

( _Dad’s going to kill you_ , she had warned him, and she was right because she always _is_. It’s Zuzu’s fault for never listening, whispering _Azula always lies_ as if she needed to _lie_ to ruin him. And now he’s ruined himself.)

(“Smile,” Father hisses to her before the funeral so she smiles.

The headpiece for a crown princess is heavy in her topknot.)

iii.

The palace is too quiet now.

No Zuzu, no Mother, and Uncle Iroh weeping behind closed doors.

 _It’s fine._ She doesn’t need them.

She doesn’t need Mother to brush her hair (that’s what servants are for) or Zuko to make her look good (not if she’s already perfect.) As for Uncle, Azula barely knows the fat old man. (He was never stingy with love until it came to _her_.)

She doesn’t need _anyone_.

Mai and Ty Lee visit once after the Agni Kai, bleeding their grief all over the palace floor for _poor Zuko_ and _poor Azula_ for her loss, their voices soft and sympathetic and _mockingly_ sweet.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snaps at them _._ “Zuko was _weak._ If he wanted to live, he would have fought instead of snivelling on the ground like a coward.”

Mai flinches, a tiny thing, but a flicker of _something_ that fills Azula’s insides with something hot and trembling and _furious_. “Azula—” Ty Lee tries.

“Get out,” Azula snarls, fire flaring to life in her palms, and Ty Lee’s face blanches, grey eyes wide and fixed on the flames. “Get out of my sight. _Get out_!”

( _Blue._ Her fire has turned _blue_.)

iv.

Her dreams are filled with blood and fire. When she wakes up, she’s gripping the left side of her face with her heart hammering against her ribs.

Sometimes, she watches it play out over and over again- Zuko, begging _I am your loyal son,_ and a flaming mockery of a tender gesture. Sometimes, she takes his place.

(And sometimes, she’s the one stood before the crumpled form of her brother with blue fire in her palms as his face melts away. When she wakes up, there’s bile rising in her throat and a pervading feeling of _guilt_ that settles like a heavy weight in her stomach.)

v.

For the first time, Uncle shows up to watch her train.

When she runs through her dry katas in the courtyard, he sips his tea and offers gentle corrections as if she’s a terrified pygmy-puma. As if Azula needs _corrections_ when her forms are perfect, and they always have been. (She’s not _Zuko_ , after all.)

When she begins again, summoning her blue flames, the old man is only surprised for a flicker of a moment and then he’s just _sad_ (as if he has any right to be sad when he was the one who let Zuzu into that meeting. As if he has any right to be sad when he _looked away_.) He’s sad and pathetic and Agni, she wishes he’d just leave her alone, but when she finally stops, the sun is high in the sky, her muscles are shaking with exertion and Uncle is _still_ sat there.

“Your flames are very beautiful, niece,” he says.

“They’re not supposed to be beautiful,” she snaps. “They’re _powerful._ ”

“Ah,” Uncle says with an easy smile, “Why can it not be both? A lily of the valley is just as beautiful as it is potent after all.”

Azula blinks. She… doesn’t know _what_ to do with that. What to do with the softness of his eyes or the gentleness in his tone usually reserved for anyone other than her. It almost makes something warm curl in her chest that she doesn’t care to name, but—

“You can’t replace Zuko with me,” Azula sneers, suddenly furious, because _how dare he act as if he cares now,_ “I don’t need your proverbs and I don’t need _your_ advice.”

“Niece—”

She storms away and leaves him in the courtyard, even though tantrums are _below_ her and Father would be furious at her childish behaviour.

(It doesn’t matter that she no longer has Zuko to make her look good, not when she’s his only heir and the royal family tree has been pruned down to the trunk. Father can’t get away with killing her because she’s _useful._ )

Uncle is there the next day. And the next. And the next.

Azula ignores him until she doesn’t.

(He w _as_ the Dragon of the West after all and although she’s loath to admit it, the old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Like _lightning_ and Azula is very, very good with lightning, with the rush of energy that runs down her spine and the power the crackles at her fingertips.

He says _excellent work, Azula_ with pride and his smiles do not come with conditions.)

vi.

Azula is fourteen when she’s summoned to throne room and kneels before a curtain of flames.

From his throne on the raised dais, Father says, “The Avatar has returned.”

And then: “You will capture him and bring him to me.”

The _Avatar?_ Azula doesn’t let the surprise show on her face even as her mind spins with the implications. The Avatar is little more than one of Uncle’s spirit tales, a half-forgotten myth from one hundred years ago.

“Of course, Father,” she says smoothly.

His eyes are cold and unforgiving. “Do not let me down.”

(For a fleeting moment, she wonders if he’ll burn her too. She doesn’t stay long enough to find out.)

vii.

She tells Uncle about her mission and he says, “when do we leave?”

viii.

Their chase for the Avatar is ruthless and relentless, carving a bloody path through the Earth and taking them to the harsh, polar cold of the Northern Water Tribe.

(They sail past a Fire Nation armada that will _crush_ the North, but there’s a bitter taste in her mouth at learning she shares a mission with _Zhao_. Zhao, who boasts of plans to kill the moon spirit. Zhao, who smiled with her at her brother’s Agni Kai as if he had any right to his suffering. Zhao, who flinches when blue fire flares in her palms.)

Uncle gives her a weighted look as he adjusts the straps of her new white and grey armour, and Azula lets him, because he might be clucking like a hopeless mother turtle-duck, but the sentimental old man looks so _concerned_ that something inside her freezes up.

“Stay safe, niece,” he says, tone sombre, “Just come back alive, that’s all I will ever ask.”

 _I can’t lose you too,_ he doesn’t say.

_I have no one else left._

She rolls her shoulders and smirks, dragging up her confidence. “I was born lucky,” Azula says. And then slightly softer because there’s a glassy sheen in his eyes, “I won’t let you down.”

And then—

Uncle is hugging her, his arms warm and safe around her and Azula stiffens, opening her mouth to protest, only to find nothing comes out. There’s a sudden lump in her throat when he pulls back and says fiercely, “You could never let me down.”

“You’re so embarrassing,” she says, her voice strangled and a little delirious. “I’ll be back soon.”

And then she dives into the freezing water to avoid whatever he has to say next. He shouts something after her, but it’s lost in the crashing of the waves next to her ears. She puts it out of mind and hones her attention.

She has an avatar to catch.

ix.

The siege begins.

Under the cover of Zhao’s armada and flames, Azula makes her way through the frozen city unseen, her fire burning in her veins and prepared to strike.

And then—

Then she finds the Avatar in a pocket of lush greenery, meditating before a pond, his arrow tattoo glowing a pale blue and Azula feels a rush of success, because this is _it_. No more chasing, no more futile hours combing the Earth Kingdom, no more diving in polar waters- the Avatar is here and he is _hers_.

“Who are _you_?” a girl around her age demands, water curling around her fingers.

“Princess Azula of the Fire Nation,” Azula says, fire sparking between her fingers, and the waterbender’s eyes widen. “I’m here for the Avatar.”

“You’ll have to go through me,” she hisses.

Azula smirks. “That won’t be a problem.”

(The waterbender is good, but Azula is _better_. She calls upon lightning and lets ozone and static fill the air, feeling the raw _power_ flood her veins, and the waterbender only just manages to dodge what would have been a fatal blow. Azula grabs the Avatar and _runs_.)

x.

The Avatar escapes and Azula–

Azula has _failed._

She _failed._

The word rings in her ears as the waterbender encases her body in ice and her vision blurs at the edges.

She _failed._

xi.

When she wakes up, she’s lying on a raft in the middle of the ocean with no idea how she got there, Uncle’s steady presence by her side.

Azula doesn’t ask what happened.

(She doesn’t ask because that means acknowledging the curdling shame in her stomach and the bile rising in her throat.)

“He’s Zuko’s age,” Azula says instead with a disconnected feeling, like someone cut the ties between her and her body. Like she’s not there at all. Her voice sounds distant to her own ears. “The Avatar is the same age as when Zuko died.”

 _The Avatar is Zuzu’s age and I don’t know what to do,_ she doesn’t say.

_The Avatar is a child and I failed._

_The Avatar is a child, and I don’t know what Father will do if I don’t return with him._

Except—

Except she does know, doesn’t she?

If she’s lucky, he’ll kill her quickly and privately without the stares of bloodthirsty crowd. If she’s lucky, he’ll make it clean instead of burning her to death and starting with the face. There’s a hysterical laugh building in her throat and for the first time, Azula doesn’t want to find out if the spirits are truly on her side. Whatever luck she had is _gone._

“I can never go home,” she whispers. “Not unless I catch the Avatar.”

Uncle sighs and it’s a heavy, pained thing. “I wish I could promise you otherwise, niece.”

A fragment of a laugh, exhausted and flat, slips through her lips. “I know he doesn’t love me,” she says because she’s bone tired and exhausted and far too certain that this is where her luck runs out. “I used to think Zuko was pathetic for chasing after his love, but that’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it?”

“Ozai’s idea of love have always been a cruel thing,” Uncle says.

And then, “If he is not proud of you, if he does not love you, he is a fool, Azula.”

xii.

The spirits _must_ still be on her side because their raft hits land in just over two weeks, right next an Earth Kingdom village.

They eat their first proper meal in weeks and whatever froze inside her at the North begins to thaw. They have food, water, a chance to bathe and actual beds to sleep in and Azula is content to let their hunt for the Avatar wait for now.

(And if neither of them rises with the dawn, who’s there to judge?)

xiii.

When Azula finds the Avatar again, it’s purely by luck. Clumps of bison fur form a trail and without hesitation, Azula _runs_ until she hears loud voices, shrouded in the trees.

(“-I just don’t understand why she’s being so _stubborn-“_ )

She slows her pace and edges closer. Three on one- the waterbender, a Water Tribe boy and the Avatar. It’s practically an _invitation_.

Azula calls upon her flames and then lets _loose_ , circling their camp in a ring of deadly blue fire and steps forwards.

“ _You_ —" the waterbender snarls.

“Me,” Azula says agreeably. “It’s so nice to see you again, Avatar. It was dreadfully rude of you to run off like that.” She grins, wicked sharp, a fireball rising above her curled palm. “We don’t need to make this difficult. If you come with me now, I’ll leave your friends be.”

“Aang, _don’t_ ,” the Water Tribe boy says, levelling a boomerang at her and _really_? She wrinkles her nose in distaste. ( _Not a waterbender_ , her mind catalogues. _Or a very poor one at least_. Her odds are looking even better.)

“Wait,” the Avatar blurts out, looking so painfully childlike and pathetic that it _hurts_ and despite herself, Azula hesitates, the sneer freezing on her lips. “You’re Princess Azula. Your- Your brother says he loves you.”

( _Dad’s going to kill you,_ she’d taunted with a smile and then he _did_ , and Azula watched with a smile while her mind screamed _get up, get up, get up_.)

Her blood _chills_ and Azula recoils _,_ her blue flames wall flicking out in a lapse in concentration. 

“ _What_ ,” she snarls, her words faltering on her tongue for the first time since she was a child. “He spoke to—"

The Avatar nods enthusiastically. “I’ve met Zuko in the Spirit World,” he says, “He helped me find the Ocean and Moon Spirits—" _what_ “—and he said he misses you! And that he loves you and he’s sorry for leaving you when he died—”

“ _Shut up!”_ Azula flings the fireball blindly, because her vision feels blurry and her heart is pounding too loud in her chest like a war drum. “You don’t know _anything_.” 

(They get away and Azula lets them. Azula fails again and she lets herself fail, because the only thing that matters if that the Avatar spoke to Zuzu. And that he misses her. And he’s sorry for _leaving._

_Trust Zuzu to apologise for dying._

If she burst into bitter tears half a mile away, there’s no one around to judge and Azula can’t bring herself to care anymore.)

xiv.

“I don’t understand how Dad could kill him,” Azula says, her words abrupt enough to startle Uncle’s careful hands. Boiling water sloshes from the kettle into the ground. “Zuko is dead and Dad killed him.”

And logically—

Logically, she knew what had happened that day. That her brother had been murdered in front of a crowd and the only people who batted an eye were the rebels who turned him into a martyr. But everything has clicked into place and it’s the first time Azula can reconcile _Zuko died_ and _dad killed him_.

Her eyes are prickling with the realisation that she lived longer than Zuzu ever did.

 _Oh_. She’s crying again.

And Uncle wraps her into his arms, gentle in the way that a father should have been, letting her sob into his shoulders and shatter into pieces because _Zuko is dead because dad murdered him, and I smiled as I watched it happen._

“We let it happen,” Azula says, half hysterical and Uncle sharply inhales. _How could you look away? Why didn’t you save him?_ she doesn’t say because she doesn’t need to.

“You were a child, Azula,” he says eventually. He’s crying too, a detached part of her brain notes. “You were both children. I have no excuses to offer you, only that I will regret my choice every day of my life.”

 _Good,_ she doesn’t say.

Instead: “I’m going to kill him.”

“How are you going to do that?” Uncle says and she’s surprised when she doesn’t find that disappointed set of the mouth that mother used to favour. Despite his red rimmed eyes, he looks calm. Settled.

 _How indeed?_ Azula thinks.

And then: “I’m going to train the Avatar. I need you to prepare for the war to end.”

And Uncle _grins_.

xv.

“ _Azula_?”

“Avatar,” she says cooly, holding her palms up in the air. “I’m here on peaceful terms to speak with you and you _friends_.”

The waterbender- by the _spirits_ , what is her name? – pops the cork on her waterskin, crystallising an ice dagger between her palms. “Give us one good reason not to end you _right now.”_

Azula looks away, focusing her attention solely on the Avatar. “You passed on Zuko’s message,” she says, holding back the snap in her tone and forcing a half-hearted smirk to her lips. “Consider my this me repaying my debt. I heard you need a firebending teacher.”

“Tui and La, _no_ ,” the Water Tribe boy swears, looking stricken.

“Why should we believe you?” the waterbender says icily. “After the North Pole? After everything you’ve done?”

Azula shrugs. She doesn’t say _because the Firelord killed my brother and it took me three years to realise it._

She doesn’t say _because I don’t want to be a monster anymore, not if it means being like him._

_Because my brother is dead, my mother is gone, and I have nothing to lose anymore._

“Who else is there?” she says derisively. And then: “I’m the best and I want the Firelord gone. I can teach you firebending and then get you into the palace to take a shot at him.”

The earthbender girl is staring at her with glassy unseeing eyes and Azula feels unfairly scrutinised. “I can’t tell when you’re lying,” she says, some annoyance bleeding into her tone, cracking her knuckles, “But I’m the greatest earthbender in the world. I can crush you like a bug if you try anything funny.”

(She’s not surprised that they’re sceptical because _Azula always lies_ expect for when she doesn’t. Not that anyone ever believes her- Zuzu and Mother certainly never did.)

“Excellent,” Azula says flatly. “Is that a yes?”

The group all trade uncertain, weary looks. The tension in the air is palpable.

“It’s a yes,” the Avatar confirms.

“But we’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” Water Tribe interjects, spinning his boomerang in his hands in a way that is probably supposed to be menacing.

“Excellent,” Azula deadpans.

And then the earthbender girl is linking her arm through Azula’s and saying _so from the greatest earthbender to the greatest firebender—_

xvi. 

“Azula is going to help me wash the dishes,” Katara says and it isn’t a question. It’s a poor façade for an interrogation. Azula is tempted to sneer at doing _peasant_ work, but she’s holding onto her place as the Avatar’s new firebending master by the skin of her teeth, so she shrugs and follows.

They walk in tense silence to the river and only once she has a clear power source in sight does she say, “I don’t like you and I don’t trust you. You’re only here because you’re the best option we’ve got. If this is a trap—” water curls around her fingers “—You won’t live to regret it. Do you understand?”

( _Do you understand_ as if Azula didn’t grow up in a court of rat-vipers, as if Azula is unfamiliar with someone looking at her and assessing just how much she is worth alive.)

“Perfectly,” she says with a sharp smile.

The water falls back into the river and Katara orders, “You’re washing the pots. I’ll dry.”

Azula wrinkles her nose, but complies, something that _clearly_ surprises the waterbender. They fall into silence as they work. It’s peasant work, undignified and below a crown princess, but if this is the cost of starting to earn their trust, she’ll take it.

“Aang said your brother died.” It’s not a question.

“He was thirteen,” Azula says and Katara inhales. Her eyes prickle sharply, “He was _thirteen_ and the Firelord burnt him to death, starting with the face.”

And then: “I watched it happen.”

“I watched my mom die,” Katara offers and it feels like an olive branch. It’s not trust, not yet, but it’s s _omething_ and that’s enough.

xvii.

“Again,” Azula snaps. Then: “You keep retreating in on yourself. If you want to control fire, you can’t be afraid of it, otherwise it controls you.”

The Avatar scrunches his face up in the concentration as he runs the katas again, but there’s a fearful glint in his eyes when fire puffs from his fist and then flickers into a pitiful cloud of smoke. “I’m sorry,” his face crumples, “I’m trying not to be afraid! But I— I burnt Katara the last time I tried firebending and what if—”

 _What if it happens again?_ he doesn’t say.

(Azula still dreams of the crumpled form of her brother and blue fire in her palms. His face melting, the sickening smell of flesh cooking and rotting away. Her body- out of her control, even as her mind begs _get up, get up, get up and fight_.)

“Everyone burns someone by accident when they first learn,” she says. Her voice comes out rougher than she expects, “Fire is power. It is dangerous, but it’s also—” Zuko’s bright smile, the almost-proud look in her father's eyes when her first sparks form in chubby fists, Uncle’s care when he's heating of tea and his warm uninvited hugs, “— Fire is _beautiful._ It is _life_. If you want to control it, you need to respect it.”

( _A lily of the valley is just as beautiful as it is potent_.)

His grey eyes are wide with awe and Azula says, “Again.”

(His flame is better this time and her nod of approval makes a dopey grin break out on his face. _Zuzu would have loved him_ , she thinks and for the first time, the thought isn’t painful.)

xviii.

The next village is under Fire Nation rule and there’s a poster with her face on that reads _Accomplice to the Avatar,_ _wanted dead or alive._

She tears it down, blood rushing to her face and wonders why it still hurts when she knows that he doesn’t care (and never really did.)

They’re running out of time and by the looks on their faces, they know that too.

xiv.

“I met your uncle, you know,” Toph says that night at their camp, “He makes _really_ good tea.”

Azula scoffed in response, summoning a spark to light the campfire. “I used to call him _his tea loving Kookiness_ ,” she says, “I never understood the appeal.”

Toph snorts a laugh. “He cares about you a lot, Princess.”

 _He loved Zuko more,_ Azula doesn’t say.

_I would never have been his first choice._

“I know,” she says instead, tossing her wanted poster into the flames to watch the corners curl and blacken and fire engulf her face. _I miss him,_ she doesn’t need to say.

xv.

Azula had been prepared for arguments, resistance, jabs about her trustworthiness when she says _We’re running out of time; we need to act now._

But for the first time, they’re all in agreement. Their eyes are resigned and fearful and tired, but they’re listening when she goes over the plan once again- Azula and Aang at the palace, while Toph, Katara and Sokka tackle the issue of guards and imperial firebenders. It's not so much a plan as it is an outline, but it's all they've got. A silence falls over the group as they load up their supplies onto Appa’s saddle.

The journey is tense and fraught with things left unsaid.

When they reach a clearing outside of Caldera and split into their groups, Toph attaches herself around Azula’s middle so suddenly it rips the air from her lungs.

“Good luck,” the earthbender says fiercely into the fabric of her shirt, “Give ‘em hell, Princess.”

Around the lump in her throat, Azula says, “I don’t need luck, I was born lucky.” Her arms wrap around Toph’s shoulders anyways and her gaze catches on Katara’s. “I’ll see you when it’s over. All of you.”

She doesn't say _I trust you_ because she doesn't need to. 

“Take me away, Sifu Azula,” Aang says, holding out his hands dramatically with a wide smile and she can’t help but grin back.

xvi.

“Father.”

“Azula.” His eyes flick from her to the monk in chains by her side with that _almost_ -pride in his eyes that makes her preen and her skin itch at the same time and she can’t help but think for a fleeting moment that it would be so _easy_ to pretend she was lying to the Avatar all along. “My generals believed you to be a traitor.”

“I would never betray my nation,” she says, an easy smirk curving at her lips, “And as you can see, I’ve succeeded in my mission.”

The Firelord hums. “Indeed.”

He stands from his throne, walking down the steps until he’s stood before Aang, roughly grabbing his chin to force the airbender to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he demands and—

( _Get up, get up, get up, fight, please,_ her mind screams and Azula forces down the flinch even as her heart hammers in her chest and she can smell burning flesh before anyone has even drawn a flame.)

— the chains echo off marble floors as they hit the ground. Hell breaks loose.

A furious arc of fire colliding with a shield of air that Azula barely has time to dodge. Her father’s flames- unrestrained, hot and _vicious_ \- and the palace floor tearing open for a wall of earth to block the attack. Aang is dodging and feigning and evading, taking to the air and moving like the wind as Ozai’s attacks become less controlled, more erratic.

“Stop fighting like a dishonourable coward,” Ozai snarls, a wild whip of fire nearly snaring around Aang’s ankles and sharp pride flares in Azula’s chest at the strong flames that counter it. “ _Azula_ , don’t just stand there.”

“Sorry, dad,” she says, her voice airy and giddy with the hell of it all. Her heart beats wildly _(get up and fight.)_ “You see, I’m _done_ taking orders for you. You lost my loyalty when you murdered Zuko.”

“He was _weak_ and so are you.” His orange flames meet her blue ones, meeting in the centre in a furious blaze, curling up towards the ceiling. His expression contorts with raw fury. The Firelord’s crown is knocked askew in his hair. “I should have killed you with your pathetic mother.”

Azula dodges his next blow and then she feels the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as the air crackles with familiar power and static and he’s pointing his fingers at her and the air cuts with a stream of blue—

( _get up, get up, get up and fight)_

Azula stands her ground.

Lightning hits her outstretched hand—

Someone _screams_ as pain floods her senses, lights her veins aflame, muscles shaking and trembling, her knees hitting the marble floor—

_(get up—getupgetupgetup)_

And she forces the lightning from her own body back out though her outstretched fingers.

It hits Ozai’s chest and the Firelord _falls_.

“That was for Zuko,” her voice cracks. “And for Mom.”

She’s smiling. She doesn’t remember much else, but she’s smiling when her vision turns dark.

xvii.

Her dreams are filled with blood and fire.

The throne room is on fire, thick smoke from the burning drapes and she’s on her knees with lightning wracking her nerves with fine tremors and Zuzu is kneeling next to her, taking one of her shaking wrists between his steady palms. He looks as young as the day he died.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he says, gold eyes fierce, “I’m sorry I died, Lala, but I love you and you need to _get up and fight._ ”

“Why did you let him kill you?” Azula whispers. “Why did you have to die?”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says again. Then softer, “I thought that if I burnt for him, it would be enough.”

She laughs and it’s a hollow broken thing because she thinks she might finally understand. “He shot lightning at me.”

“And you redirected it,” Zuko counters and he’s smiling- soft and proud and dopey like the idiot he _was—_ is. “Now you need to live, Azula. Your friends are waiting for you.”

 _I love you,_ she doesn’t say.

He smiles again and she thinks that he knows.

xviii.

Dawn comes the next day and Azula rises with the sun.

She wakes up in her bedroom at the palace, surrounded by lush silk sheets and thick pillows and four extra bodies sprawled on the ridiculously oversized bed. Later, she’ll have to get up and face the carnage in the throne room and the fallout of Ozai’s death. Later, she’ll have to make her announcement and Uncle will have to take the crown as regent. Later, she’ll have a war to end.

 _Later_.

Azula glances at the snoring bodies curled around her protectively.

She smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact! this was supposed to be 2000 words at most lmao and then it just kept getting longer. it's worth mentioning that YES, I did forget about Mai and Ty Lee and so I'm sorry about that, but I literally only realised when I'd written 3/4 of this so,,,,, sorry.  
> also writing action just,,, makes me go ew. I tried my best but yeah lol
> 
> anyways?? I hope you enjoyed bc I used all my independent study time on this whoops  
> thanks for reading! <3


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